Cold winds moved through the school courtyard, brushing against the windows where faint golden light tried to push them back.

Hiten arrived early that morning — scarf wrapped loosely, hands tucked into his pockets. The same scarf Aarya had given him days ago, back when everything was still simple.

He stood near the window, watching the faint snowflakes melt against the glass. His breath made little clouds, fading before they could form words.

A few moments later, Aarya entered the room. Her hands were slightly red from the cold, her hair still damp from the fog outside.

She smiled softly. “You came early?”

Hiten nodded. “Couldn’t sleep much. The winter felt... quiet today.”

She looked out the window beside him. “Yeah. It feels like even the world is thinking slower today.”

Their teacher entered then, clapping her hands. “Alright, everyone! Since we’ve survived the exams, the trip, and the chaos — let’s do something fun before Christmas!”

She held up a small red box filled with folded paper slips. “Secret Santa! Pick one name, buy or make a small gift for them, and we’ll exchange the gifts tomorrow.”

Everyone cheered. The room got filled with chatter and laughter.

Hiten picked a chit quietly, unfolded it, and froze for a second.

Name: Aarya

A few steps away, Aarya opened hers.

Name: Hiten

For a moment, both looked up at the same time.

Their eyes met — soft, knowing.

Neither smiled too widely, but there was that silent curve of lips that only two people who understood each other could share.

---

That night, Hiten sat at his desk.

Blank paper, ink pen, and the sound of distant wind.

He thought of what to gift her. Something small, something that spoke without words.

Then his eyes fell on his mother’s half-knit wool muffler resting on the chair.

He smiled faintly.

Next morning, he held that muffler — completed, carefully tied at one end with a small bracelet thread that Aarya once gave him.

He didn’t know why he tied it there. Maybe because it belonged.

Aarya, on the other hand, walked through a small gift shop, her fingers brushing over small notebooks, pens, and ribbons. Then she found a pen — elegant, silver, simple.

The shopkeeper said it could be engraved.

Without thinking too much, she said, “Can you carve this line?”

‘Write the moments you wish would never end.’

---

The next day came — soft music, faint smell of chocolate and pine, the air filled with quiet laughter.

The classroom had turned into a little celebration.

When it was their turn, Hiten and Aarya stood facing each other.

“Here,” she said softly, handing him the small box wrapped in light blue paper.

He smiled and gave her his gift — neatly folded muffler, wrapped in brown paper tied with red thread.

They opened it together.

Aarya’s eyes softened when she saw it. “You... made this?”

“Yeah,” Hiten said quietly. “Didn’t want to buy something when I could make it.”

She ran her fingers over the fabric — soft, warm, and oddly comforting.

Then she noticed the small thread tied at the end. “This... is the same bracelet thread, isn’t it?”

He nodded. “Thought it deserved a place somewhere it could stay.”

Hiten unwrapped his gift next. The silver pen gleamed faintly under the classroom light.

He turned it in his hand, reading the small engraving.

He didn’t say anything for a while, just looked at it and smiled.

“You really thought this much?” he finally said.

Aarya looked down slightly. “It just felt right.”

He exhaled softly. “Hmmm.”

---

Everyone around them continued laughing and exchanging gifts, but for a few minutes, the world between them slowed down.

They sat by the window, watching snow drift gently outside.

Hiten spoke first, voice low, almost like a whisper.

“You know, sometimes the best gifts aren’t wrapped.”

Aarya turned her head slightly, meeting his eyes. “Then what are they?”

He smiled faintly. “Moments. People. Maybe... words that stay even when they’re never said.”

She didn’t reply — just smiled, faintly, hiding it behind her cup of cocoa.

Snowflakes melted against the glass, and for the first time that winter, everything felt quiet — not the silence of emptiness, but of peace.

---

That night, Hiten wrote in his diary:

> “She gave me a pen to write, and I gave her warmth to wear.

Maybe we both gifted what we needed most.”

And outside, the snow kept falling — endless, gentle, and soft.